Ten days ago, in the rookie instance.
A gloomy player was walking side-by-side with two unfamiliar teammates through a pitch-black tunnel.
Their mission was to traverse the tunnel and deliver a box to an old woman.
One teammate suddenly muttered, “This tunnel’s way too long. When the hell does it end?”
He was clearly agitated. His breathing had grown heavy and uneven.
“Just hold on a little longer, we—”
Before the gloomy player could finish, a faint light appeared ahead. The trio, exhausted to their bones, immediately lit up with hope and rushed forward eagerly.
But what awaited them beyond the tunnel wasn’t the old woman they were supposed to deliver the box to—it was a vicious, bloodthirsty hound.
They managed to kill the beast with everything they had, but all three were wounded. And when the second hound showed up, the gloomy player nearly got mauled. In a panic, he shoved the teammate closest to him—straight into the monster’s gaping jaws, which snapped down and tore off his arm in one brutal bite.
Panic surged in his chest. And then, as if something broke loose inside him, he gave in completely. Since he’d already started, he might as well finish it.
He stood there, expressionless, as the hound tore his teammate to bloody shreds. Only when the other was almost unrecognizable did he snatch the dagger from the dying man’s hand and stab the beast to death.
The teammate lay on the ground, barely clinging to life.
The last surviving teammate saw the look in his eyes—and bolted without a word.
The gloomy player gave chase immediately.
No one had livestreamed this run, but that person had seen his face. They knew. They knew he’d pushed their teammate into the beast’s jaws on purpose. And if they made it out alive… if they talked… everyone would know.
No. Absolutely not.
None of them could be allowed to leave here alive.
By the time the gloomy player came back to his senses, the fleeing teammate was already lying in a pool of blood.
He handed the box to the old woman as instructed, and when he stepped outside, he noticed that the teammate with the severed arm was still barely breathing.
Expression blank, he walked over and delivered the finishing stab.
That dying teammate had struggled to say something—one long sentence. But before the gloomy player could hear it all, the system announcement rang out:
[Congratulations, Player has become a “Plagiarist.” New ability acquired: Web Weaving. Items obtained: a vial of deadly frost poison, a razor-sharp dagger.]
[Existing item: a length of durable fine cord.]
[Congratulations on successfully clearing the instance!]
[Achievement unlocked: Solo Clear. Bonus reward: 50 Points!]
So killing them… not only brought him victory—it gave him more rewards.
A crazed smile crept across the bloodstained face of the gloomy player.
He had cleared the rookie instance by stepping over his teammates’ corpses. But in doing so, he’d planted a twisted seed deep in his heart—one that would, with time, take root and grow.
He rested for only three days before diving into another instance. This time, he’d set his sights on a little girl’s item. He planned to take it from her.
But he failed.
And in the final moment, as his consciousness slipped away, he remembered what that dying teammate had said to him back then:
“Do you remember that we’re still human? The more people you kill, the more you’ll start to enjoy it. And before you know it, you’ll become just like those things watching the livestream—just another puppet dancing on their strings. Is that really what you want?”
Now, at last, he understood.
But it was far too late.
***
Xu Zhengyi’s body couldn’t be taken with them, so the players built a grave for him inside the instance.
As for the Plagiarist—he died by his own poison. No one knew where the antidote was, so no one dared touch his corpse.
Served him right.
Xu Xiao stood before the grave mound. It didn’t even have a proper headstone. That small pile of earth now held her father’s remains.
“Will I ever be able to come back to this instance again?” she asked.
No one had an answer.
Even the game itself played dead, utterly silent.
Xu Xiao let out a soft sigh. “I understand. I’ll live on. I’ll carry my dad’s last wish with me.”
A ten-year-old girl, suffering from depression, now orphaned and alone in a world where death game instances had descended upon Earth—how was she supposed to survive?
It would be unimaginably hard.
Fu Changxun rested his hand on her small shoulder, crouching slightly to meet her eye. “Would you like to come live with Doctor-gege?” he asked gently. “My place is big.”
The black cat, as if understanding the moment, trotted over and rubbed itself affectionately against her leg, even letting out two soft, mewling cries.
Xu Xiao gently stroked its sleek, smooth back. Thinking of what her father had said, she chose to accept the kindness being offered to her.
“Okay. Thank you, gege.”
“You don’t need to worry about anything,” Fu Changxun said quietly. “I’m never going to have kids of my own. From now on, you are my child.”
“We’re going to keep living. We’ll live until this goddamn game finally leaves our world. One day… things will get better.”
Dong Zi stood beside them, steady and solid as a mountain.
That mountain suddenly asked, “You’re never going to have kids?”
Fu Changxun gave him a strange look. “Of course not. You already knew I’m gay, didn’t you? How would I have kids with a guy? I’m not doing surrogacy or adoption. If my future partner’s okay with it, Xu Xiao will be our only child. If he’s not… then he’s not the one for me.”
“I’m okay with it,” Dong Zi blurted out. Then immediately realized what he’d said—and scrambled to cover. “So… can I live with you too? It’s safer if we stay together anyway.”
Fu Changxun: “Huh?”
Even though Dong Zi had been blatantly living at his place ever since they cleared the first instance, wasn’t it a bit late to bring this up now?
Xiao Xiao glanced from her doctor-gege to the very tall gege standing beside him.
Her tear-swollen eyes were filled with question marks.
“Can’t I?”
Dong Zi tilted his head and looked up at him with innocent eyes. Fu Changxun met his gaze for a few seconds… then gave in.
“Fine. But you’re sleeping on the couch,” he said coldly. “There are only two bedrooms.”
Dong Zi choked on that, but he didn’t seem to mind. Squatting down, he said to Xiao Xiao, “Your doctor-gege doesn’t have much stamina. I’ll protect you both, okay?”
“Hey—don’t go exposing my weaknesses,” Fu Changxun shot him a glare.
Xiao Xiao didn’t have much stamina either. Seeing that her doctor-gege wasn’t rejecting the idea, she gave a little nod.
Dong Zi let out a sigh of relief.
Xiao Xiao cast one last silent glance at her father’s grave, then resolutely turned away.
She was going to live. She had to live. And she’d clear this game no matter what, find a way to bring her father back—after all, the game could resurrect an NPC’s data. Maybe her dad’s data had a backup stored somewhere too?
This was a “game,” after all.
In the games Xu Xiao Xiao had played before, there were always backup and save functions.
Clinging to that fragile hope, she finally tore herself free from the despair of losing her father and turned to face this chaotic, broken world.
Most of the players had helped during the earlier fight, though their efforts hadn’t made much difference.
But at least… none of them had stood idly by.
Xu Xiao thanked each of them one by one, and the group returned to the General’s Platform.
During the earlier chaos, the emperor and the state preceptor had tried to escape, only for Yun He to drag them both back, one by one.
Fu Changxun stared at the two NPCs—bruised faces, crooked mouths, black eyes—and fell into speechless silence.
“They still looked kind of lively, not at all like they’d been beaten up. So I gave them another round,” Yun He said, a little embarrassed. “Has the traitor among you been dealt with? I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”
The players’ actions within the instance would be rationalized by the system. What that moody player had done earlier with his ability had automatically been classified as treason by the instance.
As a key NPC, Yun He naturally couldn’t intervene.
Not that she could’ve helped much anyway in a battlefield where abilities were flying left and right.
“It’s fine. We… lost a teammate. But the traitor’s dead too,” Fu Changxun said solemnly. “What about General Yun Qing? What do you plan to do?”
Yun He looked at her dazed and despondent younger sister and sighed deeply. “I’ll find a way to let her remain in this world.”
“Is there… anything else you need help with?”
She noticed the group seemed hesitant, so she took the initiative to ask.
Fu Changxun nodded. “There is. We’re looking for something—the General’s blade.”
It was their objective for the instance.
Realizing they were talking about her, Yun Qing floated over. “My blade?”
The General had wielded countless blades in her lifetime, but which one were they looking for?
“General, do you remember which blade you used the most, or felt most connected to?” Zhao-jie jumped in. With time running out—the eighth day was already upon them—there was no time to search one by one. “Maybe the first one, or the last?”
Yun Qing thought for a moment, then said firmly, “Then what you’re looking for is likely the one buried with me beneath the General’s Platform—right beside my remains.”
Everyone instinctively turned to look at the platform.
It was just past the second watch—around 3 a.m.
If they didn’t want to alert the Imperial Guard, they had less than two hours to dig up the blade.
Though a crack had already split the General’s Platform, the burial site was deep—as if someone had feared Yun Qing might resurrect and crawl out for revenge. They had no choice but to dig.
Everyone got to work, even Xiao Xiao, who grabbed a stick to help pry at the stone and earth.
The players dug feverishly for nearly an hour, about a meter deep, when Yun Qing suddenly said, “I can feel it—my bones are right beneath this spot!”
She warned urgently, “Be careful, Jie-jie. Please preserve them. If my bones aren’t whole, my soul won’t be either.”
At her words, Yun He crawled to the very front and carefully brushed away the soil.
Eight years of buried injustice were finally brought to light.
It was a skeleton—nothing but white bone now—and a rusted blade lying close beside it, still recognizable as a lethal weapon. Judging by the position of the bones, she had clutched the blade tightly even in death.
That blade had been her comrade through blood and battle, her witness in uniting the realm.
Fu Changxun picked it up, wiped the dirt from its surface, and solemnly handed it to Yun He.
[Ding-dong—Congratulations, player has obtained key item: The General’s Blade. Congratulations on clearing the instance!]
[Players now have 30 minutes of extended stay in the instance.]
[Please choose: leave now, or remain for 30 minutes?]
After seven days and nights of relentless tension, the new players couldn’t wait a second longer. Nearly all of them chose to leave immediately—and vanished on the spot.
Zhao-jie and Swift Step were preparing to leave too, when they noticed Ning Wan hadn’t moved.
“You’re not going?” Zhao-jie asked.
Ning Wan shook her head. “I want to see what happens to this instance after we’re gone.”
Would the emperor be executed? What would happen to Yun He?
